


Your Hand

by stuffilikeiwrite



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Ahsoka Tano, BAMF Darth Vader, Brother-Sister Relationships, Darth Vader Has Issues, Darth Vader Needs a Hug, Darth Vader Redemption, Gen, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, POV Ahsoka Tano, Protective Ahsoka Tano, Sad, Sad Darth Vader, Sad with a Happy Ending, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffilikeiwrite/pseuds/stuffilikeiwrite
Summary: “You do not comprehend the things I have done,” he stated; but despite his resolute, booming profession that came off as more machine than human - enhanced by the vocoder aiding his feeble, scarred vocal cords - Ahsoka sensed his hesitance, his wavering emotions; his conflict.
Relationships: Ahsoka Tano & Darth Vader, Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 11
Kudos: 126





	Your Hand

“It is too late.”

Ahsoka shook her head vehemently, refusing to accept the montone delivery of what was doubtless the truth. He sounded nothing like the Anakin Skywalker she’d known, even as she reached out with the Force, searching for him - sensing only cold; a juxtaposition between the burning hatred and the freezing tendrils of the Dark Side coiling around him like treacherous, lethal serpents, ready to strike and deliver their venom straight into her bloodstream. Ready to watch her writhe, screaming in pain, pleading for mercy. She should be terrified, yet all she felt was numbness. Empty, null, _void_. 

Palpative, making her throat burn and her eyes water. Refusing to budge, she took a tentative step towards the man she had once called master, the man who had taught her all she knew; all she cared to remember, harkening back to a past too painful to hold on to. Her older brother, her best friend, her anchor to her family.

“It’s _not_ ,” she persisted, ragged hands balled into tight fists; her face displaying what she hoped to be a determinate defiance.

He had taught her to fight back, taught her to be stubborn, to be relentless. Perhaps it may be the end of her, but if so, at least she would suffer no more. Besides, dying by his hand would be an honour. Swallowing hard; she locked her eyes onto the beeping red and green lights of his chest box. Monitoring his respiratory system mechanically, sustaining the suit keeping him alive. With his reputation, she should be terrified of him. Still, she felt an odd, eerie calm. No dread, no unease. No jittery nerves, only a solemn serenity. Only understanding, and a foreboding acceptance. Without thinking, she raised her left hand. She tugged with an invisible extension of her graceful fingers, manipulating the Force carrying her unspoken plea his way as a silent whisper; a demand. He flinched, and she knew he received it.

“You do not comprehend the things I have done,” he stated; but despite his resolute, booming profession that came off as more machine than human - enhanced by the vocoder aiding his feeble, scarred vocal cords - Ahsoka sensed his hesitance, his wavering emotions; his conflict.

Frowning, she doubled down on her efforts; scowling as she poured all her good will and intent into what had once been a powerful connection between them. She understood now that Anakin had severed it willingly, perhaps to spare himself from any painful reminders of the past. Perhaps, believing her dead but refusing to obtain concrete proof of his suspicion. Perhaps, he had simply wished to shield her if she were alive; despite all odds. Perhaps, he had known even through the foggy haze of the Dark Side that his fall would destroy her. Ahsoka held onto that thought, however wistful it may be. It reinvigorated her hope.

“I _know_ what you’ve done,” she said; barely realizing she had spoken until he turned to face her.

She could not see his face; the familiar boyish features she knew so well concealed by a skullesque face plate. Jetblack, with large, hollow eye holes covered by semi opaque, red tinted lenses. She met those dead sockets without hesitation; unable to glimpse his pale blue eyes, but feeling them on hers. Unyielding. Were they even blue anymore? She remembered Maul’s eyes, and their sickly, yellowish glow - the bloodshot, crazed stare. If Anakin removed his mask, would he too sport the golden eyes of a predator; out for blood? 

Ahsoka would not relent, she would not give in. He had believed in her when no one else had, and she felt indebted to him - obliged to offer him the same benefit of doubt. Her hand was still hovering mid air; slender fingers outstretched; trembling with the effort as each second of rejection dragged on. She felt the buzzing tingles of his aura, of his Force signature. So different. Maimed, twisted, tormented and warped. Both decimated and accentuated at once. Less powerful than she remembered it, and yet more powerful than she could ever recall it. He was a riddle, a contradiction. Part of him seemed to want to tear her to pieces, the other more inclined to dive into her open embrace.

“Then you understand what I must do,” Anakin stated.

Ahsoka shuddered; sensing his malicious intent, and the blame. His spite, his envy, his hatred; his rage. But there was more. Sorrow, confusion, fear, guilt. A guilt so raw, so heavy, so thorough it made her bones ache; settling like a sodden weight at the pit of her stomach. Churning; gnawing, weary, sullen. 

Nodding, she shut her eyes with a soft sigh. For a moment her fingers trembled, and she considered giving up. Perhaps he was too far gone, perhaps there was no salvation. She shouldn’t offer him forgiveness, it was a selfish wish for a long since forsaken reconciliation. Still, when she once again met his stare; her resolve returned full throttle. She clenched her jaw and held her head high with a stern vigor; sending another compelling plea his way. She noted his shoulders were quivering, and realized he was beginning to buckle under the pressure of her quiet request.

“You don’t have to. You still have a choice.”

Anakin did not reply; the heavy cloth of his black cape, his robes dancing in the soft twilight breeze. Three years ago, he had left to save the Chancellor from General Grievous. Three years ago, she had been sent to liberate Mandalore from Maul’s puppet regime. Three years ago, the Republic had fallen. Three years now felt like a lifetime. 

Ahsoka had thought him dead - suspecting Maul’s cryptic prophecy may carry more weight than she cared to admit. He had sewn the seeds of doubt, and though she’d proclaimed him a liar - that uneasy, bitter feeling had never waned. Now, that she knew every word was true, she wasn’t sure what scared her more - the fact that she was so willing to blindly forgive Anakin for his crimes, or the fact that it mattered little to her at all what he had done. He was her brother, and she would not abandon him. Somewhere deep down, a small voice at the back of her mind nagged that this was _her_ fault. If she had stayed behind, perhaps his undoing could have been prevented. If she had stayed, perhaps she could have done more for him.

“No, not anymore,” he shook his helmeted head; large gloved hands falling slack to his sides but he made no attempt to back away when Ahsoka took another slow, cautious step towards him. 

He smelled of synthetic materials, of bacta fluids, of sanitizers, of durasteel, of ashes and smoke and the cool, piercing winter air. The sound of his breathing was rhythmic; slow, and manufactured, and beyond his control. 

Ahsoka pitied him; and she knew he could sense it. He deserved the punishment he had brought upon himself; they both acknowledged that. Still, she wished to see him freed from his makeshift shackles. She took a deep breath, her now limp hand lingering between them. As soon as it fell, his time was up. She felt the lump grow in her throat, the telltale burning of tears prickling behind her eyes. She would not lose him again, he needed her as she needed him. She felt as if an invisible wall stood erected between them, preventing her from closing the figurative distance. She was already resigning herself to a reality in which she had failed. A reality in which Anakin was truly lost. 

He would never renege, never accept defeat, never admit his guilt. The power, Palpatine, the Empire. The Dark Side. It all had gone to his head. 

Ahsoka licked her lips, mouth dry, as she spoke one last time.

“You always have a choice, but you’ve never made one for yourself. You’ve always allowed everyone around you to make up your mind for you. You’re only here, because of Palpatine’s choices. His lies. But his decisions don’t have to be yours. What does your heart tell you, Anakin?”

At the sound of his long since discarded name; he once more closed his large hands into tight fists - the power of the utterance, of those three syllables, immeasurable. Ahsoka feared she had made a mistake; that she had crossed the final line. That she had banished the remnants of the man she’d known, rather than saving him. Her arm trembled, remembering how Maul had offered her his tutelage with a similar, grand gesture. She, too, had made a choice then. 

Anakin was beyond her reach, the vicious; sneering jeers of her doubt taunted - and as tears blurred her vision, she almost believed it. 

Then, rough leather covered fingers brushed hers. Feigning off her tears; eyes stinging, Ahsoka stared at the large, gloved hand whose fingertips brushed hers in a shy; wary greeting. Wavering, uncertain, frightened. Unable to quite allow her to fully touch it; even as she turned her hand over, the palm facing downwards. She was offering him the chance to rebuild their relationship, to rebuild what semblance of his past he may. To make himself a new name, a new future, a new identity. Far away from the Emperor, out of sight and mind - free. Liberated from his chains, from his torments. 

Anakin’s shoulders trembled; his steadfast mechanical breathing and the chirping crickets the only noise in the early evening - apart from her stilted, sniffling hiccups. In the end, Ahsoka gasped as he finally grasped her hand tight; making the choice she had prayed but never dared hope for. His grip was firm, and harsh, and awkward - as if he’d forgotten how to be tender or gentle, how to nurture. He clung desperately to her; her own joints winging and protesting from the painful grip. Still, she held on as if her life depended on it. Perhaps it did. 

In the end, it didn’t matter.

Ahsoka felt scalding tears trickle down her smudged, ashen cheeks, but was unable to restrain the wide warm smile that spread across her face - tugging at the corners of her scabbed lips. Relief flooded her soul; and she poured it into Anakin’s end of their Force bond. It came back cautious, weary - but genuine. 

"Thank you," somebody said - be it Anakin, or herself, Ahsoka couldn't tell. Either way, it meant the same thing. It was all the reassurance she needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea I had, because it’s been nagging at the back of my mind - and I’m a sucker for Ahsoka and Anakin/Vader angst. So, here, at least it has a nicer ending that canon does for the two of them! Hope you enjoy. :3
> 
> Tumblr link below:  
> https://stuffilikeipostno2.tumblr.com/post/637054855707525120/your-hand-aka-ahsoka-and-anakinvader-meet-up


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